Eye Contact
by Kshar
Summary: Set post-The Bank Shot Job. Sophie takes some things to heart. Not all things, of course.
1. Chapter 1

Eye Contact (1/2)

by Kshar

Spoilers for 1x05, "The Bank Shot Job".

Thanks to Fleur27 for beta reading, lo these many moons ago now.

xx

Disclaimer: Characters are the property of TNT, and are used without permission.

xx

Sophie freezes at first when she hears the knock at the door. It's been a long time since anyone knocked at her door, even longer since it was someone she wanted to see.

The most important people in her life - Nate, Eliot, Parker, Hardison - don't come by to visit much. It's not something they have time for, it's not something they _do_. They're all cats who walk by themselves, and even though Sophie likes them-trusts, them, even, more than she's trusted anyone - she's the coldest, quietest, most secretive one of all.

So she ignores the knock for a long minute. She's tired, too, she's had a long day. Until she hears the faintest scratching of metal on metal, and that's enough to decide her. She marches over to the door, clicking back both locks sharply, and pulls it open to find Parker.

Parker doesn't look startled, but she straightens up and takes a step backward anyway, her blonde hair swinging in its ponytail.

"I heard you," Sophie says, nonplussed.

"Oh," says Parker. "Yeah. I knocked."

"No, I mean I _heard_ you. Picking the lock. I never hear you."

"I was being noisy on purpose. I didn't want to scare you."

"Okay," says Sophie, stepping out of the doorway belatedly. "That's odd. Come in. You shouldn't pick people's locks unless you're stealing from them. Wait, are you okay? Is everyone okay?"

Parker watches her while she talks, wide-eyed, then shakes her head as if to clear it. "Sophie, too fast."

"Sorry," Sophie says. "But you're all right?"

Parker narrows her eyes; looks at her like she's crazy. "Yeah, of course."

"What-" Sophie stops herself before she asks _What are you doing here, then_, and stretches out an arm to gesture Parker into the apartment. Parker walks in, and Sophie shuts the door behind her with a soft click.

It's simple, Sophie's place; she lives pretty well below her means. It avoids suspicion (there's nothing quite like having to put a neighbor off the trail once they've spotted the _Landschaft mit Obelisk_ hanging above your mantel), but also it makes life cleaner, and less complicated. Her couch is soft and comfortable but unremarkable; her walls are plain, neutral colors.

She can see Parker taking it in, looking curiously in corners and making note of windows and exits. Parker's brow furrows when she's thinking hard; Sophie thinks it makes her look like some cute little forest animal confused by the world.

It's a deceptive look. Parker's sharp as a tack and twice as dangerous: her brain doesn't work quite like other people's, but she makes up in other areas for the skills she lacks.

_Skills_, Sophie thinks with a trace of bitterness. As though her own ability to read people is such a benefit.

It hasn't done all that much for her lately.

She shakes herself mentally; moves on. "I was opening a bottle of wine. Could I interest you in some?" She leads Parker through to the kitchen, gestures to the red wine on the counter.

Parker claims one of the chairs pushed up against the counter instantly, and hooks her feet around the base, leaning forward and balancing her elbows on the counter. She looks at the wine bottle curiously and then wrinkles her nose.

"Ew, no."

"Something else?" Sophie asks hospitably, trying to remember what Parker actually likes to drink. She knows Parker will drink anything when it fits into a con-any of them will, and the remembered image of Eliot drinking pink champagne still entertains her-but outside of work? "Coffee?" All of them like coffee, Sophie reasons. It could be Leverage Consulting's official beverage.

"Could I have a glass of water?"

"Of course," Sophie says automatically, moving to the cabinet for a glass; stops. "Parker, what's wrong? Seriously."

"Nothing," Parker says inflectionlessly, not looking up. "I just-" her voice trails off, and when Sophie gently places the glass of water in front of her, she starts a little.

Parker looks small and vulnerable, all curled in on herself, blonde hair untidily wisping out of its ponytail. Sophie's tempted to touch her arm, but she knows how Parker feels about touching. She turns back to her wine bottle instead, and twists the corkscrew and pours dark red liquid into a glass.

She's taking a sip before she feels Parker's eyes on her again. "Aren't you supposed to let it sit for a while?"

"Can't be bothered," Sophie says. "Drink while you can, is my motto."

"Nate's, too."

Sophie's shocked by the response and for a minute can't think of anything to say. It's true, of course. They all know it. They just don't say it much, out loud.

And Sophie's the one who counts his drinks silently; watches his hands shake in the mornings. Compares the Nate she knows now to the man she used to know.

Parker cocks her head to the side, an expression of clinical curiosity on her face. "You're upset," she says. "I upset you."

"No," Sophie says immediately, and then: "Well, yes," and then "No,", again, after she's thought about it. She takes a deep draught of her wine, ignoring the aftertaste.

Parker's eyes still follow Sophie. Sophie's never been that comfortable with constant eye contact, anyone watching you very closely for any length of time is a problem. She's good at drawing people's gaze away, keeping everything in motion. When things slow down, when her marks pay too much attention to detail, she's in trouble.

"You're very... forthright, Parker," she says eventually.

"And that's bad," Parker says, a little uncertainly.

"Not at all," Sophie says. "Sometimes honesty is good."

Parker watches her for a long minute before they both break, Parker giggling, Sophie letting herself smile.

"Yeah, right," says Parker.

"I'm not upset," she says again, because she tries to be clear with Parker, and there's a calm moment where Parker smiles at her, and it's nice, having company. "Why are you here, though? Did you want to talk, or something?"

This time, it's Parker who seems taken aback. "Uh, no. No, I didn't want to talk."

"Are you concerned about the job? I know Hardison's complaining about doing another rip deal so soon. Are you worried about the bank security?"

Parker barks out an incredulous laugh. "No," she says, drawing out the word. "Please."

"Another bank, I know," Sophie says, sympathetically. "It's weird, isn't it? Nate has this thing about getting straight back on the horse. Personally I think it's best to let the horse find his own way home and call for a taxi, instead-"

"Sophie!" Parker interrupts.

Sophie waits for her to say more, but nothing. "What?" she asks finally.

"You ask a lot of questions," Parker says. "And, you know, I just wanted to check up on some stuff." All of a sudden Parker's expression changes, turns blank and unreadable, and Sophie reflexively checks the necklace at her own throat.

"What stuff?" Sophie asks suspiciously.

"Just-stuff-I-just-Ihavetogoanywayokay?"

She's up and out of the chair before Sophie even processes what she's said, and is halfway out the door before Sophie catches up.

"Parker," she says. "Parker!"

Parker's down the hallway already, though, and slips into the stairwell, quick and graceful, with a hand raised in acknowledgment, but not another word.

Sophie watches for a moment, as though she expects some kind of smoke trail, then turns back to her apartment and reclaims her glass of wine, taking a much slower sip this time.

"Well, that was strange," she says to herself.

xx

Parker doesn't bring up the subject when Sophie sees her next. Of course, Parker's dressed as a firefighter, complete with day-glo yellow suspenders and ash in her braided hair courtesy of Hardison's box of special effects, and Sophie's never sure whether it's a good idea to encourage Parker to break character. Some things, once broken, can't be repaired.

But a week later, it happens again. They're still working on the new bank job (Sophie, as always, gets to do the nine-to-five while the others flit about punching people and eating cereal and sending radiowaves through doors, or whatever it is Hardison does). Sophie's not used to being on her feet all day, especially not used to having to listen to irate customers and pretend like she cares, and she'd even had to skip lunch to liberate some floor plans from the manager's office. She's thinking vaguely of Chinese food and a bubble bath and some sleep before her insanely early meeting with the rest of the team to go over some final details.

So she's startled, but too weary to raise an objection, when she opens her front door and finds Parker sitting cross-legged on her couch, watching her TV. Sophie hangs up her jacket in the hallway, and drops her bag on the table.

"I hope you at least brought food," she says in way of greeting.

Parker doesn't look around from the television. "I thought we could order pizza," she says.

Sophie picks up her phone and throws it to Parker, assuming-correctly, as it turns out-that Parker can see her in her peripheral vision.

"I'm going to shower," she mutters, then thinks better of leaving it at that, and leans back into the room from the doorway. "No anchovies!"

Parker's reply is just short of distinguishable as Sophie walks through the hallway back to her bathroom, shrugging out of her blouse and slipping off her shoes as she goes. The tiles are cool under her feet as she finishes undressing.

She twists the faucet up as hot as it will go, and directs needles of water down her back, on her thighs and legs. Steam twists around her; she feels her hair escaping from its barrette, turning itself into ringlets against her neck as she leans her head to the side, hearing her neck crack.

Sophie's most comfortable when she's acting; being someone else comes more naturally to her than being herself. So the cons-the _being the character_ part-don't usually feel like work to her. But there's more to it than just staying in character. She has to do research, take notes, and know what questions she'll be asked, know the right words to drop to make it seem like she knows much more than she really does.

She's still thinking about how the rest of this job is going to play out when she hears a knock at her bathroom door, and she turns the water off, with a sigh.

"Parker, remember we talked about privacy," she says, raising her voice enough to be heard through the door.

Parker's voice comes back, loud and right outside the shower, and Sophie just about jumps out of her skin. "I knocked!"

Sophie manages to suppress most of her shriek, but it clearly unnerves Parker just the same.

"I'm sorry!" she hears, through the steam, from outside the shower curtain. "Sorry!"

"Oh, for the love of-" Sophie feels a rivulet of water run down her back, turning cold, and slips a hand through the curtain. "Hand me a towel, will you?"

xx

"I know we talked about not scaring you, as well," Parker's saying contritely, sitting on Sophie's bed while Sophie rubs a towel through her damp hair.

"Yes," says Sophie firmly. "We did."

"I'm just saying, you're very easily scared. So this time I couldn't help it."

Sophie closes her eyes for a minute; takes a deep breath. Several different responses war on her tongue, but she chooses the nicest one. "It's okay," she says. "Just - maybe you could wait until I say 'Come in'."

Parker smiles and nods, as though taking it under advisement. There's a long pause, and then: "Did you know your neighbor's got five thousand dollars hidden under his mattress?"

She's used to Parker's non sequiturs, but this gives her pause. "How could you - never mind. Did you call for pizza?" she asks, tying her robe more firmly around her waist and walking out to the kitchen.

"I thought it'd be handy to know," Parker says, following her, and her voice is so serious Sophie turns around to see her face. "In case you ever need five thousand dollars quickly. And, yes. Thirty minutes or it's free."

xx

It's covered in anchovies, of course. Sophie picks them off and drops them on a napkin, wiping her fingers delicately. Parker munches happily, gaze on the TV.

"I'm kind of thirsty," she mentions during a commercial.

Sophie's comfortably warm again, now, her tired feet on the couch beside her, and feeling lazy. "Fridge," she says, pointing vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. "Serve yourself."

"Can I - can I make myself at home?"

There's something sad about the way Parker says it, and Sophie twists herself around on the couch to look her in the eye. Parker's watching her intently, something in her eyes that Sophie can't quite define.

"Of course, Parker," she says, softly.

Parker's eyes light up, and the expression on her face is like the sun breaking through the clouds. She unfolds herself from the couch, and walks out to the kitchen, back straight and smiling all the way.

That was a nice moment, Sophie thinks, wondering exactly what just went on, and then leans forward off the couch to call into the kitchen after her. "Bring me back something fizzy, will you?"

xx

Pizza combines with the fizzy ginger ale to upset Sophie's digestion, something Parker seems to find funny, if the soft giggles coming from her every time Sophie hiccups are any indication. She ends up getting up to go to the kitchen and pours herself a glass of water.

"D'you want water, Parker?" she calls into the next room as an afterthought, and hears a grunt that sounds positive in reply.

Sophie takes the opportunity to gather her thoughts. She's not used to constantly having people around, outside of a con. She's not used to having people know things about her, and Parker and Nate and the others know more about her than is quite comfortable.

It's not quite comfortable, but in another way it's a good feeling. She's been alone for so long, and now she has the kind of people who won't leave her behind in a held-up bank; who come by and order pizza on Tuesdays nights.

She hears Parker flipping channels between commercials in the other room, and it brings her back to the present, so she fills another glass and collects ice from the fridge. Her living room's darker than her brightly-lit kitchen, and when she walks back in, the blue light of the television reflects off Parker's face.

Inasmuch as Sophie's ever paid attention to Parker's television preferences, they seem to align pretty closely with Hardison's - _Spongebob_, _Battlestar Galactica_. Here, though, she's picked a documentary about sharks, and has been watching it avidly, her gaze rarely moving from the screen. Sophie can't help but be impressed by her focus.

There's a huge shark on the screen; Sophie watches its teeth gnash with some unease, and then looks over to see Parker watching her. She moves closer and places Parker's water on the table, feeling strangely shy under the other woman's scrutiny.

"That one," Parker says, gesturing dismissively toward the on-screen shark. "I think a giant squid could beat him."

"Squid don't have teeth, Parker," Sophie says.

"No, of course not," says Parker agreeably. "They grab you in their tentacles-" she mimes a hug in the space in front of her, "And they squish you to death."

"That doesn't sound right," Sophie says dubiously, but admittedly this is not her area of expertise. Until the next job requiring her to be a marine biologist, of course, when she'll have to learn all about squid-hugs. "If they stop moving they die," she adds as an afterthought, the one and only interesting fact she can dredge from her subconscious about marine animals.

"Squids?"

"Sharks," says Sophie.

"Oh," says Parker, clearly weighing this in her mind. "They're kind of like us, huh?"

Sophie doesn't answer for a long moment, and Parker's face grows worried.

"Someone's always chasing us," she says.

"I knew what you meant," Sophie says, too abruptly, and suddenly doesn't feel like sitting down any more. Maybe it's the aftermath of the hiccups, but she takes a few steps to look out at the night through her window, then paces for a minute, not quite sure where her feet want her to go.

"This one won't be like the last one, you know," Parker says.

Sophie's back at the window, and she has to turn right around to look at Parker. The other woman has her knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around herself as though she's cold. Sophie hooks an afghan off a chair with one hand and tosses it to Parker.

Parker ignores her, and the blanket lands in front of her on the couch, covering her feet. "I'm just saying," she goes on. "We won't let Nate get shot this time."

"Parker," Sophie says.

"Yeah?"

"Watch the sharks, would you?"

xx

Parker's attention span lasts for the whole TV show, but goes missing when it's replaced by a documentary on Stonehenge, and she flips channels for a while, face dissatisfied, before turning the TV off.

"We have to get up really early."

"I know, right," says Sophie with feeling. She was still thinking about Stonehenge, about close gray skies and rain and how London seeped into your pores, and a life that feels like a million years ago. "Who knew there was a five o'clock in the morning, as well?"

She's about to say good night, when something occurs to her. "Parker?"

Parker turns back to her. "Sophie," she says seriously.

"Why do you like sharks?"

Parker smiles, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I don't. You do."

Sophie thinks about it for a minute, then shakes her head. "No, I'm sorry, you've completely lost me."

Parker sighs, with a long-suffering air that Sophie thinks she might find vaguely insulting. "Here," says Parker, and walks through the hallway to Sophie's bedroom. Sophie follows, carrying her glass of water and feeling like she's being led along.

"Here," Parker says again when they step through the doorway, and spreads one hand out to indicate the room at large.

Sophie blinks, puts her glass to the side, and tries to look at her bedroom with new eyes. White walls, darker curtains to block the morning sun from waking her before she cares to be up. Closed closet, wooden drawers, plain quilt and a million pillows because they make her feel secure when she's falling asleep.

And her painting, of course, on the opposite wall from the bed, where it can be the last thing she sees before she goes to sleep, and first thing when she wakes up.

It makes sense - well, sort of, as much as any of Parker's logic can be said to make sense. It isn't a painting of sharks, but the main subject is water; a hundred shades of blue.

It's small and unassuming, and she'd had it framed simply, and everywhere she's lived, she's arranged her lighting around it. Just a little painting of light shining through water, silver-scaled fish almost too small to see angling through a ripple so real it looked like movement, like action, like a wave.

"I thought you must like fish. Because of the painting. It's the only decoration in here," Parker says, wrinkling her nose as she looks around at Sophie's apartment. "I mean, your apartment is really boring. But you've got that painting. And it's not famous. I don't see a signature. It's not old-"

"No," Sophie agrees. "It's not old. And it's not by anyone who's anyone."

"So, I figured maybe you had it because you liked it."

Sophie took a breath. "I did," she says. "I do. That painting...it wasn't really about the fish. I mean, it's not the subject that's important. That's not why I bought it. That's not why I keep it here. The day I bought it, in Tuscany, it was the most beautiful day. This guy had it displayed on a table at the local markets, and when I got there-the sunrise that morning, you wouldn't believe. It's like - there's nothing like it anywhere else. It's like gold."

Sophie looks sideways; sees that Parker appreciates the comparison, whether or not she understands the sentiment. "And that painting, the colors, and the silver shining in the light. It made me think that things could always be just like they were in that moment."

Sophie stops, takes a sip of her water. Parker's watching her avidly, almost as interested as she was in the TV.

"It was a long time ago," Sophie says. "And it wasn't about the fish. But I guess in a way, they're interesting. They know how to be happy. They don't spend their whole lives wishing for things they can't have."

Parker seems to think about this for a long few minutes. "They could be," she says slowly, finally. "You don't understand them. They could be really unhappy all the time. How would you ever know?"

Sophie is still for a moment, then raises her hands to press tiredly against her eyelids. "You know," she says, hearing her own voice, muffled through her hands. "You make an excellent point." She allows herself a moment of feeling sorry for herself, then takes her hands down from her face and pushes back her hair.

Parker, meanwhile, maneuvers herself around the room, and ends up sitting on Sophie's bed cross-legged, not-very-surreptitiously running a hand under the pillowcases.

"Nothing there," Sophie tells her, to save her some time. Her shoe closet probably contains items more valuable than anything else Parker will find in here, but she isn't about to tell Parker that. Instead, she takes the glass from the nightstand, takes another drink of water before replacing it.

Parker takes her hand back. "Sophie, do you want to have sex with me?"

Sophie just manages to avoid spraying her mouthful of water across the room, but she's still choking for several moments. Parker, oblivious, folds her hands in front of her like a Bond villain.

"I mean, I like you," Parker says. "And you're really pretty."

Sophie tries to compose herself.

"I'm really good at sex," Parker says blandly. "People say so."

"Oh, God," Sophie says under her breath. "Parker, sweetheart-"

Parker shuffles around on her butt so she's directly facing Sophie from her place on the bed, and looks up at her, smiling cheerfully, happily, and not even slightly sexily.

Sophie, uncomfortable, waves a hand from Parker to herself. "Parker," she starts, and then stops again. She turns around and paces a few steps; recognizes the gesture as one she's unconsciously imprinted from Nate, and shakes her head. "Parker."

"You said that," Parker adds helpfully.

"I just wanted-" Sophie starts, "I mean, I want to say I think you're gorgeous and I love you to pieces, but I don't want you like that."

"Oh," says Parker. "Yeah, I don't want you like that either."

"Excuse me?"

"I figured I'd offer. You seemed sad. And people like sex."

"Huh," says Sophie, not completely certain she shouldn't feel insulted. "Next time, maybe an Amazon gift card?"

Parker gives her a small smile, but then it drops from her face. "But I was right," she says. "You are sad."

Sophie lets out a deep breath, and just for a minute considers saying something. But then she thinks, there's the con ahead, and things to do and prepare, and the fact that last time, she was the one to blow their cover. She steels her face. "No, I'm fine, Parker."

Parker watches her for a long time, then stands up to go back to the others. "Okay," she says simply. She turns her back to Sophie, then at the last minute spins again. "You know what we should do instead?"

Sophie cannot even fathom a suggestion, so she shrugs.

"Free-climbing!"

"Oh, sure," says Sophie, faintly. "That sounds perfectly sane."

xx

Their meeting is at the office building opposite the bank; Parker and Eliot need to scope the area, find unexpected exits and learn doorways and alleyways. Sophie doesn't particularly appreciate the five-story stair climb (Hardison had been there to open the service door for them, grin wide), especially in three-inch heels, but it's part of the work. She only participates in this side of the job as much as is necessary for her own safety, but it's interesting nonetheless, watching the others estimate distances and plan escape routes.

There are always errors, but they're getting better at reacting as a team, at knowing how the others will react. In fanciful (or tipsy) moments, Sophie imagines them as asteroids, ricocheting gently off one another in a diamond-sparkly background of space.

Okay, so she _really_ doesn't know anything about astronomy, but it makes for a pleasant, diverting mental image when she's waiting for the others.

Or, she can look at the view, and clear mornings in Los Angeles are pretty enough too, she supposes. She's forgotten to bring sunglasses, and even this early the light is too bright and flat. She has to shield her eyes with one hand as she leans on the surrounding wall of the rooftop, looking down at the still-quiet street below. The windows of the buildings surrounding them reflect the light like mirrors, and she can hear traffic on the freeway.

As it's always been, she hears Nate long before he approaches. His footsteps sound different to her ears than anyone else's; she once surprised Hardison by being able to pick him out on a sound-only recording of Nate and the marks in a hallway.

He's slower than usual today, hesitant. Still favoring his side, she imagines. Sophie knows from personal experience how long a gunshot wound takes to heal, and what it feels like while it does. She remembers the tightness of skin around her scar for months afterward,remembers the _pulling_ feeling that used to scare her so much when she was healing. Like something inside her was coming unraveled. Like something might tear loose.

It had severely limited her ability to be - well, _Sophie_. The Sophie she'd built herself was many things, but never fragile. Never afraid.

Nate doesn't show fear very much, but she sees it in his movement. She watches him favor his side, or take a step away from one of the others when they went to stand beside him. Sees him avoid leaning down. She reaches her hands out further, elbows braced on concrete, feeling the cool morning air on her fingertips. Construction cranes sit idle along the street below, like sleeping birds.

"They're always building around here," Sophie says.

"The whole city's a work in progress," Nate says, walking up beside her. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him lean against the wall too. "Parker tells me you're going extreme rock-climbing."

"Oh God Nate, don't you dare encourage her." Sophie stretches, arching her back like a cat with her arms still on the wall. She looks over, and Nate moves to stand beside her. "What else did she tell you?"

"You know something," says Nate. "I don't think I always understand the things Parker tells me, so I couldn't say."

Sophie feels the need to defend Parker, although she isn't quite sure why. "We all have our own areas of interest," she says.

The clear-blue-light sky is changing, the sun rising. Red is starting to show on the horizon, and gold and orange. It's beautiful, Sophie thinks, even through her early-morning mood. There's a clarity here.

Nate's been looking at her too long, and she shifts under his scrutiny. "It's pretty," she says, pointing in the direction of the sun. "Amazing sunsets here, too."

"Pollution," Nate says. "The sunlight refracts off particulate matter. Smog. Makes it look redder."

"You're not much of a romantic, really, are you?"

He pauses for a long moment before he replies, as though he was going to say something else and thought better of it. "I've seen better sunrises, that's all."

"Me, too," Sophie says with feeling. And then wonders if he's thinking what she's thinking.

Maybe.

Probably not.

It was a long time ago.

"How are you going with our con man?" she says, for something to say.

"Sophie, you say 'con man' almost like it's a bad thing, these days," Nate says lazily.

"I'm not the one who found the adorable little white-haired old ladies he'd stolen fifty thousand dollars from."

"They found me, strictly speaking," Nate says. "Everything's going pretty smoothly, except I think I'm going to swap out the dummy apartments."

"What's wrong with the old ones?" Sophie asks indignantly. She and Hardison had found the old ones online, even spent a day driving out past the valley to check them out so they'd know what they were "selling".

"Too low-rent. We need something that's going to catch his eye."

"You and your ambition," she says. "They were very pleasant. Plenty of single people living there. Great place to live after a divorce; there's a communal hot tub in every complex. I still have the agent's number if you're interested, Nate."

He smiles to show he got the joke, but it's more like a pained grimace. She smiles innocently, in response.

"How is your side going?" he asks.

"Oh, fine," Sophie says, and, remembering, pats her pockets until she finds the floor plans and hands them to him. "I think I might be up for a promotion."

"You've only been there a week," Nate says.

"I guess some people know talent when they see it," she says, and they're silent for a few moments. "Speaking of which, I'm up for _Hamlet_, you know."

"Oh, really?" Nate says, nodding in that overly enthusiastic way he has when he's being supportive. "Local?"

She's not sure if there's a tone in his voice when he asks that question. It sounds like there's a tone. Sophie chooses to ignore it. "Santa Barbara Community Theater," she says proudly. "Shakespeare, Nate, just picture it. Of course, there may be some problems with the funding."

"Of course," says Nate. "I'm sure you'll come up with something."

"I'm sure I will," Sophie says. "I'm fairly certain I was born to play Ophelia."

"That's a - really terrifying thought, Soph," he says.

"I will remember your lack of encouragement. Aren't the others finished with their infra-red things yet?"

xx

Continued in Part 2.


	2. Chapter 2

Eye Contact (2/2)

by Kshar

Disclaimers in Part 1.

xx

"It just doesn't make any sense," Parker's saying, shaking her head in denial. "It's called _creamer_, Eliot."

"It's called non-dairy creamer, Parker," he replies. "They make it in a lab. With emulsifiers, and vegetable oil."

Parker, face horrified, looks to Sophie and Hardison for confirmation.

"The wonders of modern science," Hardison says. Sophie just shrugs, and while Parker's mulling this over, she claps her hands together.

"I forgot to tell you guys," she says. "I'm auditioning for Hamlet."

Parker appears to be still thinking, but Hardison and Eliot half-turn to Sophie in unison, identical bright smiles on their faces.

"That's great!" Eliot says, at the same time as Hardison says: "Awesome!"

"Oh, thank you, guys," Sophie says, touched. "It's not exactly a sure thing. But," she spreads her hands wide in front of her, tries to envision the stage strongly enough for them to see it through her eyes. "Shakespeare!" she says excitedly, then decides her reading of the name doesn't quite sell it, and tries it again. "Shakespeare!"

When she looks back at them, their smiles have slipped a little, but then Nate comes into the room, and they all move toward him.

"People," he says, clapping his hands together. "The sooner we go through all this, the sooner we can get to work."

Oh, there's an incentive, Sophie thinks, but doesn't say. "Go, bid the soldiers shoot," she mutters, instead, and Nate shoots her a sharp look.

Parker and Eliot go to sit down, taking their coffee with them. They're drinking paper-cup-coffee in an abandoned office below the rooftop. It's empty, except for a single desk which Hardison has used to set up his laptop, and a few plastic chairs, and a disconnected phone sitting marooned in the center of the floor.

"So we get our bad guy into the vault," Hardison's saying. "And Sophie's floor plans," he points two fingers in her direction and winks at her, "Will show us exactly where to go. Now, this is our first payload. We don't get to keep this one."

"We don't get to keep any of them," Nate reminds him.

Sophie looks along the room, at the long line of windows and indented shapes on the carpet where furniture used to be. She looks at the phone again, wondering why it got left behind all alone like this. "Nate, I'm not sure you should be with him."

Eliot, who had been watching them, suddenly appears to see something outside the window that catches his attention, and goes to examine it further. Hardison refocuses his attention on his laptop, clicking on some screen and then typing furiously. Parker, sitting quietly, watches Sophie.

"We have a plan, Soph," Nate says evenly.

"I know we have a plan," she says. "I was there when you planned it, remember? I'm just saying, I think it would work better if you step back. Stay out of the first drop. Let him come to us."

Nate runs a hand through his hair; takes a few hurried steps, like he's planning to pace up and down the room, only he shortens it and turns back to her before he's walked past Parker.

He exhales, the sound sharp in the long, low room. "Where is this even-" he starts, and then stops himself. "Sophie, if I'm not with him, there's every chance he's going to try to con _us_. You know that."

Sophie holds his gaze. _I don't care_ is what she wants to say, but of course she can't say that. It'll make her sound like a five-year-old.

"What's this about?" he asks.

"She's worried," Parker bursts out, speaking fast, as though she has to get the words out as quickly as she can. "Sophie's worried."

Nate looks to Parker, and then around at the rest of them. For a moment his face is expressionless, then he claps his hands again, rubbing the palms together. "Well," he says, and then more forcefully: "Well, okay, that's no problem. Worry is good. Worry keeps us alert. Let's just all keep our wits about us and stick to the plan, and it will all go according to-" his words trail off; he looks around at them, again.

"Plan," Hardison supplies.

"Yeah," Nate says. "Now, we still have a street recon to do and a run-through of the layout of the building." He separates his hands, then turns and walks out.

Sophie readjusts her skirt self-consciously and looks at the others. Parker stands up to follow Nate, and Eliot won't meet her eyes. Hardison, still partly shielding himself with his laptop, waves one hand past his own ear.

"What's that?" Eliot asks, watching him.

"The point," Hardison says. "Flying past Nate's head."

xx

She returns to her car after work and finds Parker sitting in the driver's seat. Sophie realizes she's getting used to surprises, and doesn't say a word, just moves around and lets herself in the passenger side instead, then hands Parker her keys.

"I don't need them," Parker says. "I could drive this baby to Mexico with any flat piece of metal."

"That's great, Parker," Sophie says, pulling down the sun visor.

"And most unflat pieces, too."

"Just use the key," Sophie says, shutting her eyes and leaning back in her seat.

Parker does-or Sophie assumes she does, she isn't opening her eyes-and the car rumbles into action. She can feel the late-afternoon sun on her face and see red light behind her closed eyelids.

"Also hard woods and plastics, and pieces of bone," Parker mutters.

Sophie chooses not to address it, although at the back of her mind she's a little bit concerned about whose bones Parker tested that practice on. "Are you sleeping on my couch again, then?"

"Yes," Parker says. "There's an issue with...with where I sleep right now."

It's an odd phrasing, Sophie thinks, but she doesn't press the issue. "You can stay as long as you like," she says, although Parker doesn't appear to be asking for permission.

"I promise we won't have sex," Parker says definitely. "Because we already talked about how we wouldn't."

Sophie opens her mouth to reply, then realizes she has absolutely no comeback to this. "Can we stop for chow mein?" she says, instead.

xx

Parker had picked out beer, and Sophie sips at an open bottle while simultaneously trying to loosen the chignon of hair at the base of her neck and open a Chinese food container. While she was distracted, Parker slips a hand through her arms under her elbow, extracting the moo shu pork like she was twisting through laser lines.

"I took Hardison free-climbing with me," she says conversationally. "Since Nate said you didn't really want to go."

Bless Nate, Sophie thinks. "What did he tell you about why I couldn't go?" she asks Parker, thinking of the myriad of excuses she herself could make up. Fear of heights. Inner ear imbalance. Ebola virus.

Parker looks confused. "He just said you didn't want to."

Sophie ponders. Nate always has been a terrible liar, and she's always thought it was because he doesn't take the craft seriously enough. Sometimes, though, she wonders. Maybe sometimes the truth really is easier, less hurtful, just right.

"How did Hardison enjoy it?" she asks.

"He complained a lot," Parker says.

"Of course."

"Next I'm going to show him a little more crawling through vents. We should all know more about that. It's useful."

"I don't know, Parker, I usually find doors work just as well for me."

While Parker rummages through the kitchen for extra soy sauce, Sophie's phone rings. Sophie flips the phone open with two fingers of one hand, stirring noodles with the other hand. Her hair, only partly freed, hangs around her face.

"It's Nate," Sophie says, looking at the screen and Parker gives her a I-should-care-about-this-why look, while spearing bamboo shoots with a fork.

Sophie keys the phone with one hand; slipped it between her ear and shoulder. "I entered the codes Hardison gave me," she says, without bothering to say hello. "I probably could have told you this tomorrow, but, everything went fine."

There's a pause on the other line, a scrape against the receiver that makes her wonder where he is.

"Oh," says Nate finally. "Oh, yeah, good."

"That wasn't what you called about," Sophie guesses.

"Hi, Nate," Parker says, picking up her food and going into the other room.

"Close enough," Nate says. "Was that Parker? Are you at home?"

"Yes and yes," Sophie says. "Why did you call me, then?"

There's a pause; another shuffle at the end of the line. "I-" Nate says. "The thing. I told you."

"Oh," says Sophie. "Checking whether I got access to the computers for Hardison. That was it, wasn't it?" She keeps every trace of sarcasm from her voice. The others really have no idea how good an actress she is. "Nothing else," she says, prompting him, and waits.

She's waiting a long time.

"Nothing else," he says in the end, softly. "Tell Parker I said hi. Good night, Sophie."

She stands for a moment, listening to the dial tone, then she switches off and drops the phone quickly, like she can't wait to get away from it, and follows Parker into the other room.

Parker's snuggled on the couch with the afghan, drinking from the lipstick-stained mouth of Sophie's beer in between forkfuls of noodles and meat. There's another beer on the table in front of her, but she seems to like Sophie's better.

"Give me that," Sophie says, reclaiming her drink, and sitting next to Parker. She misjudges, and ends up a little closer to Parker than she intended, and since she's seen Parker's issues with personal space expects her to move away.

But Parker doesn't move, except to keep eating. "Are you and Nate arguing?"

"No," Sophie says, and sighs. "We're not arguing. I don't think we're doing much of anything."

Parker smiles guilelessly. "That's okay then."

"Yeah," says Sophie, and pulls the corner of the afghan until it's covering her lap, too. "Yeah, I guess so."

xx

Sophie can hear Hardison in his office when she arrives at Leverage Consulting in the morning, _sans _Parker, who hadn't been there when she'd woken up. The conference room looks strange, in checkerboard blue light from the monitors, on but not transmitting; the overhead lights off. The other offices are closed doors and black strips underneath; Hardison's is the only one with signs of life, and she pushes the half-closed door and leans in against the jamb.

His head is bent over, and he's typing quickly into his computer, a regular rhythm, like he's writing something, not his regular hunt-and-peck single commands. Sophie wonders for a moment if she should leave him alone, but although he doesn't look up, he acknowledges her with a raised index finger, and so she waits silently.

When he finishes, he smacks what must be the enter key with satisfaction and looks up. "Hey," he says, lightheartedly for him, so early in the morning. "What's up?"

The offices don't really suit any of them, Sophie decides, except maybe Nate. There's too much dark wood in the desks, too many bookshelves and leather chairs. The modern lines of the conference room are more comfortable to her; clean, unencumbered lines and Scandinavian chairs Eliot could demolish with a kick.

"Sophie," Hardison says, clicking his fingers. "Earth to."

"Sorry," she says hurriedly, coming back into the conversation. "I entered the information in the bank manager's computer for you."

"Yeah, Nate told me."

"He did?"

"Yeah, he called me last night."

"Oh," says Sophie. "I thought-never mind."

"Problem?" Hardison asks her, his eyes focused on her. He's a kind person, she thinks, and it makes her feel worse.

"Of course not," she says. "Did you test it yet?"

Hardison looks at her for a long moment, then lets his gaze flick back to the monitor in front of him, like a mother routinely passing her gaze over a sleeping child. "All good," he says. "I have something else for today."

Sophie nods, and he opens a top drawer, rummages, and comes up with a flash drive. He leans across the table to give it to her, and she crosses the room to take it from his hand. The plastic is cool against her fingers.

"This _has_ to go in T1," he says, before he lets go. "This is very important."

"Yes, the manager's computer," she says.

"He has two stations in his office," Hardison says firmly. "T1. Sophie, repeat after me."

"I heard you, I heard you," she says.

"Call me when you do it, I'll need you to password me in for remote access. I need a few minutes with it. Maybe five, no more, so make sure there's no-one around. Put your comm in, we'll need to stay in contact."

Sophie pouts, but finds her comm link in her purse and attaches it to her ear. "Means I have to wear my hair down," she says disapprovingly. "I look much less corporate."

"Looks real pretty," says Hardison, absently, without looking up at her. "Now what terminal were you going to use?"

"T25," Sophie says positively, and smiles when Hardison nearly knocks over his keyboard in horror. "You are such an old woman," she says.

She turns to leave, but as she does she looks again at the office, at the leather-bound books on the shelves, at the photographs framed in brass on the filing cabinet. She bends down to look closer, spends a minute looking through them.

"You know, Hardison, your fake kids are adorable."

When she looks around, he's still fixed on something on his screen, his scrolling hand beside him on the desk. "Thanks," he says. "I got them from a Gap commercial."

She fusses with her comm for a moment; hooks her hair behind her ear and then brushes it forward again. The earpieces are tiny; only very barely visible even with her hair swept back, but she doesn't like to take unnecessary chances.

"Why don't I have fake kids?" she asks, distracted.

"Too busy with your fake career," Hardison says.

Sophie sighs. "Story of my life, I suppose. Like William Shakespeare said. I am fortune's fool."

Hardison looks up at her. "That one's Romeo and Juliet," he says, and when Sophie raises an eyebrow: "What? I saw the movie." He adds, more sympathetically: "It's not so bad. You have a busy fake social life. Go out to dinner a lot with your fake friends. Have a fake cat."

Sophie considers for a moment. She's never had a cat. She's never really been any good at long-term relationships of any kind. She imagines it, for a minute, a little black-and-white ball of fluff running around her apartment, somehow miraculously bonsai-ed into permanent kittenhood. "Maybe I'll name him Horatio," she says.

Hardison sighs. "His _name_ is Mister Kitty. He even has an account with your local veterinarian. This was all in the information packs I gave you. Didn't anyone read the information packs?"

"That's kind of a stupid name for a cat, you have to admit," Sophie says, turning to leave for real this time.

Hardison's voice floats after her. "I put a lot of work into those packs, you know."

xx

The lights are on in the conference room when she walks out, and Nate's at the desk, making notes from a thick book into a legal pad, in what she knows to be his genuinely illegible handwriting.

"'Morning," she says.

He looks up at her. There are dark circles under his eyes. She wonders if he's sleeping enough, if the surgery's left him with the kind of long-term inability to get comfortable she'd experienced herself, once upon a time.

It's different for Nate, though, not just a physical pain. He has trouble with hospitals. When she and the team had gone to see him, he'd been blasted on morphine for much of the first week, and then he'd started plotting logic puzzles on the back of his medical charts and devising reasons why he had to be discharged early and getting sharp around the edges.

The others had brought candy (mostly eaten by Hardison and Parker), balloons (Parker, it turned out, was inexplicably nervous around balloons, so Hardison had quickly re-gifted them to the children's ward) and magazines (mostly read by Eliot). And they'd hung around, trying to make Nate laugh and getting in the nurses' way (or in Eliot's case, becoming very popular with the nurses).

Sophie, mostly, had folded herself into a corner, left as soon as possible and arrived as little as possible, kept her voice low, and tried to avoid looking Nate in the eye, because of what she knew she'd see there.

"Going to work?" he says, now.

She nods, waves the flash drive before them both. "No rest for the wicked. I have to load it into...T7, I think he said," she finishes, stage-loud at the end.

"I heard that," Hardison calls from his office, and Sophie catches Nate's eye and smiles.

"Oh, by the way, do you have any cash on you? Hardison only ever has plastic."

Nate reached into his pocket. "You could try Eliot," he says, even as he takes out his wallet. "Although I think we both know what Parker's response would be if you asked her."

"Neither a borrower nor a lender be," Sophie quotes.

"I don't think she'd put it in those terms. What do you need it for?"

"Joelle's wedding shower," Sophie says. "We're all putting money in."

"Who's Joelle?"

"Teller number five," she says, and when Nate still looks blank: "My co-worker, Nate, try to keep up."

"You're getting very attached to this job," he observes, and hands her a bill, which she accepts between two fingers before looking at it.

"Five dollars? Nate, do you have any idea how much a wedding gift costs-well, I suppose you do-but come on. I am not going undercover as a cheapskate."

He goes through his pockets again, comes up with a twenty, which Sophie thinks is slightly better.

"We're not all international art thieves," he says mildly, at her look.

"Oh, I'll pay you back. Don't I always?"

"No," Nate says, the corners of his lips turning up.

Sophie hears the door open from the other room, and Parker breezes in. "Hey, Nate," she says, walking behind him and peering curiously over his shoulder at his writing pad. "Hey, roomie," she says to Sophie.

Nate blinks. "What?"

Parker slips the legal pad out from under his hand and turns away from him, leafing through it.

"Hey," Nate says, reaching around her to try and grab it back.

Hardison appears in the doorway of his office, leaning out into the hall where he can see them. "Sophie, you can _not_ mix up-"

Then Eliot arrives, and Sophie decides it's time for a tactical withdrawal. She slips out with a mouthed goodbye to Eliot, who is already folding his arms protectively across his chest.

xx

Sophie checks her comm, tracing the shape of it in her ear, and types in the bank manager's password.

"Hardison," she says, keeping her voice low, even though she's already checked to make sure the office and lunchroom are deserted. "We're in."

"_I'm_ in," Hardison replies, in the metallic, echoing tones she's used to hearing over the comms.

"Anything else?"

"Nah, Soph, just leave it open, I won't be long."

Sophie taps her fingernails on the desk and watches the screen. It's not interesting, and she tucks her hair behind her ear idly and sighs.

"Everything okay there?"

"Sure," Sophie says lightly. "Just a few more minutes, right?"

"That wasn't exactly what I meant," Hardison says.

"Hey, Sophie," Parker's voice comes over the comm.

"Oh, hi Parker," Sophie says. "What are you doing?"

"I'm helping Hardison," she says.

"She's very helpful," Hardison says. He's not bad at playing sarcasm straight himself, Sophie realizes.

They're silent for a long minute, apart from the faintest of scuffles that Sophie recognizes as movement, and barely audible clicks from Hardison's keyboard, and then eventually Hardison tells Sophie to extract the drive. She pockets it carefully, logs off the system and takes a long look at the desk, making sure everything's in the same place it was when she came in.

"I'll see you guys tonight?" Sophie asks.

"Yeah, you better," Hardison says.

"Hardison?" Sophie says. "Everything okay with you?"

"Nate's got updates for us," he says heavily.

Sophie pulls the door behind her, gently easing it back into the frame almost silently. "I'm not going to like it, am I?"

"I got a bad feeling about it," Hardison says.

"Hardison," Parker says, too loudly. She's never learned to regulate her volume over the comms. "You always have a bad feeling about everything."

"I'm very sensitive!" Hardison says.

"I'll see you later," Sophie says quietly, and goes back out front, waves at the tellers to show them she's back from her break, and carries on filing credit card applications, with only the slightest pang of desire every time she looks at a credit limit.

xx

"Sophie's apartment is always freezing," Parker's saying when Sophie arrives back at the office that evening.

"Optimum temperature for displaying artwork," Sophie says absently.

"You have one - cheap - painting," Parker says pointedly.

Sophie shrugs, and accepts the cup of coffee Hardison offers her. It's lukewarm, and too sweet for her: it must have been made for Nate. "Cheers."

"So," Hardison says. "How did you end up staying at Sophie's?"

"It's only temporary," Parker says.

"Yeah, what exactly _is_ going on with your apartment, Parker?" Sophie asks. "Or your house. Or wherever it is you actually live."

"Trailer," says Parker, and then averts her eyes from both of them, as though she's said too much. "Bug problem," she goes on, looking at the floor.

"Oh," says Sophie, and then: "Oh, gross."

"Nasty," Hardison agrees. "I could get you a nice hotel room, you know."

"My apartment's nice," Sophie objects.

"Sophie's neighbors are interesting. And the air conditioning system in her apartment block is actually pretty challenging," Parker says, and looks up as Nate and Eliot enter the room. Nate's in costume for his meeting with the mark: khaki pants and a Hawaiian shirt that Sophie thinks, oddly, brings out the color of his eyes.

"You guys ready?" Nate asks quietly. "We've got work to do. Hardison, display the new schematics, please, and we can go through them."

"It's your funeral," Sophie thinks she hears Hardison say under his breath.

xx

There's silence for a long few minutes when Hardison displays additions and amendments for them, and they read over them, letting it all sink in. Sophie ticks off the changes in her mind: Parker will be breaking into the vault alone, now, while Hardison provides the distraction. Eliot's position's changed to across the street, diagonally and south, closer to the 7-Eleven where Sophie's been buying her coffee in the mornings. Nate's going to be there for the second drop.

Nate's going to be there for the second drop.

"What is this?" Sophie asks quietly, pushing back her chair and walking to the monitors, her eyes fixed on the screen. She taps the nearest one with a fingernail, a hollow _tik-tik_.

"Nate?"

Nate doesn't answer for a moment, just runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

Sophie feels a snap, like an electrical current of rage, at the base of her spine.

"_Nate,_" she says again, more pointedly.

He sighs again, a long-suffering sound that makes Sophie angrier. "It makes the most sense for this con, Soph. I'll be with the mark for the second drop-"

"_No-one_ ever stays for the second drop, Nate. It's suicide. If he starts putting it together early-"

"I'll be fine," he interrupts smoothly.

"And meanwhile I've been out of position since before the second drop! What was the point in even putting me _in_-"

Nate shrugs. "I don't need you for this leg, Soph."

Sophie is ridiculously, irrationally offended, but she's starting to get a clear idea of what is going on here. "Nate," she says more softly. "There's getting back on the horse, and then there's - deliberately jumping on some crazy wild mustang to punish yourself."

Nate shakes his head. "That's not what this is about!" He seems to hear himself, and lowers his voice, although Sophie notices belatedly that they're the only ones left in the room. "That's not what this is about," he says again.

"Then why am I out of the bank before he even comes in for the second drop?"

His words come stiffly, hesitantly. "It's - safer. That way."

"Are you-" she starts, and then: "Safer for-". And then she stops for a moment, takes a breath. "You could have left me, you know. I would have been fine."

Nate looks up at her then, from across the conference table. The light of the monitors is behind Sophie; his eyes are dark in the shadows cast, almost unreadable. He stares at her for a long moment, and she looks back unblinking.

"I'm not leaving you behind," he says finally. "Not there. Not here. Not ever."

He's talking about the con. She's almost certain he's talking about the con, but she's always been stupidly sentimental, and it's probably the air conditioning that's making her eyes mist. She curses under her breath, swipes fiercely at her eyes with one pinstriped sleeve.

"You _have_ to be out before the second drop," she says, as soon as she thinks she can trust her voice. "Damn you, Nate, give me your handkerchief."

"Allergies?" he asks mildly, reaching into a pocket. "How did you know I had a handkerchief?"

"You always have a bloody handkerchief." Sophie wraps the cloth around a finger; dabs at her eye gently, so as not to displace her makeup. "I don't suppose you remember that time you had to make me a sodding pressure bandage out of one."

"You shot me first," Nate counters, and steps back.

Sophie slips around the conference table and blocks his opportunity for exit into the offices. He doesn't look like he'll run, but he's always been a slippery customer.

"Nate," she says, closes the gap between them and puts a tentative hand on his garishly shirted chest. It feels awkward all of a sudden, much too intimate, and she smiles flirtatiously to cover her nerves. "I have to tell you something absolutely deadly serious."

"Sophie," he says, breathes, almost.

"Please don't get shot any more," she says. "I'm really getting tired of it." It's supposed to be a joke, but the tone of her voice just won't co-operate, and her voice breaks on the last few words so she has to whisper to get them out at all.

"I'll take your advice," he says, leaning into her. "Don't I always?"

"No," she says, and tries to smile.

xx

Parker and Eliot come out of hiding after it's been quiet for a while, but Hardison remains gone to ground.

"You guys are finished arguing, right?" Parker asks.

"We weren't arguing," Sophie answers automatically.

"Discussing the con," Nate says. "Hashing out the details. That's all."

"Though this be madness, yet there is method in it," Sophie says, and receives blank looks. She sighs. "Let's face it," she goes on, catching Nate's eye. "We all still have a lot to learn from one another."

"Oh, yeah," Parker says enthusiastically. "I mean, that non-dairy creamer thing blew my mind."

Nate frowns. "That's not exactly-"

"Exactly," Sophie says smoothly. Proximity has made her familiar, she doesn't even raise an eyebrow, and Parker smiles delightedly. Eliot's gaze flicks from each of them to another, his face expressionless, although Sophie thinks she detects a slight relaxation in his stance.

"So, we have changes?" he asks, practically. It's different, Sophie thinks, the way Eliot addresses his question. It's for Nate, but he leaves it open; lets his gaze settle on Sophie for a long moment, too.

"Yes," says Nate, without inflection. "I'm not going on the second drop. Sophie's schedule doesn't change."

"What if what you said happens?" Parker asks, and Nate and Eliot both look confused.

Sophie translates for them: "What if the mark gets cold feet, before the second drop."

"He won't," says Nate. "We'll sell it. We're good at this."

"We are," Sophie says, and this time the smile comes easily. "We should get to work. Like the bard said: the game's afoot."

Hardison's voice floats from somewhere that seems suspiciously like the air-conditioning vent. "Sophie, you know that's Sherlock Holmes, right?"

xx

End.

xx

Feedback of any kind would be gratefully received. Thanks for reading.

Kshar

January 2013


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